


Je T'aimerai Pour Toujours

by DemonSquipster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Boys In Love, Cold Weather, Dorks in Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Forbidden Love, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Moonlight, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 12, Romantic Fluff, Sleepy Boys, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonSquipster/pseuds/DemonSquipster
Summary: It's late, and Ketch decides that it's a good idea to start flirting with Mick on the roof of Kendricks Academy. That would have been fine, if anything, Mick would have truly appreciated that - if Ketch had decided to flirt with him in English, at least.





	Je T'aimerai Pour Toujours

**Author's Note:**

> AKA I will go down with the HC that Ketch speaks French. 
> 
> I had been writing something involving Ketch, Gabriel, and Asmodeus, but I figured that this would be nicer because Mick > evil KFC man.
> 
> (I am also currently writing something involving Gabriel unwittingly letting Sam and Dean know that Mick is actually alive because yes.)
> 
> This was created because I wanted to toy with dialogue/try a new writing style. I'm not really a fan of it though, but at least I wrote something okay.

“Je te veux. Rien d’autre, juste toi.”

  
The words sounded so amazingly beautiful in Ketch’s thick accent, yet they might have been nicer had Mick understood them. He glanced up; Ketch’s smile was wide, and Mick couldn’t help but smile back. “You seem to forget, I don’t speak French.” Ketch chuckled. “C’est vrai. Je suis désolé.” Mick pushed Ketch lightly, which only seemed to spur Ketch on more. “D’accord, d’accord-” He paused, seeing the frustration in Mick’s eyes.

 

“Would you like me to translate?” Mick nodded. His eyes searched Ketch’s blue-green ones, and he saw the amusement in them. There was something else beyond that; affection, it seemed. He never could truly tell with Ketch. “‘Je te veux’ means ‘I want you’. ‘Rien d’autre’ means ‘nothing else’, and ‘juste toi’… well, you’re my clever boy, I’m sure you can figure that out.”

 

Mick grinned, and the idle patterns he’d been tracing on Ketch’s palm had ceased. “‘Just you’, right?” Ketch nodded. Mick waited a moment, before asking Ketch, “what else can you say in French?”

 

Ketch’s smile grew into a grin, and he leaned closer to Mick. “Tu as de beaux yeux.” Confusion was written all over Mick’s face. “Translation?” Ketch shook his head. “Guess.”

 

Mick thought about it for a minute. “Arthur, I truly don’t know.” Ketch raised an eyebrow slightly. Mick loved when he did that. His heart beat in staccato beats just being around the man; that small movement didn’t help. The way his eyebrow arched, and the little smirk that played on his lips - oh, Mick knew that there was certainly more to Ketch than his looks, but he had to admit that his physical features certainly weren't bad. He’d seen pictures of Ketch’s parents once or twice, and they’d most definitely graced him with their good looks.

 

“Let me assist you then. Is there anything in that sentence you understand?”

“Repeat it.”

“Tu as de beaux yeux.”

“B- bea- beaux?”

“Mmhm.”

“That would be… beautiful?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I assume ‘tu’ means ‘you’?”

“You’re getting there.”

“You something something beautiful something.”

“Figure out ‘yeux’.”

“Arthur-”

“It’s a facial feature.”

“I…”

 

Mick was going to say something, but the small twitch in Ketch’s expression was a hint enough.

 

“Eyes?”

“You wonder why I call you clever boy.”

“I have beautiful eyes?”

“Let’s try another.”

 

Mick wrapped his hands around Ketch’s, and felt a sense of pride. “J’adore ton sourire.”

 

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with j’adore.”

“Say the sentence again?”

“You just want to hear me say it.”

“No, I seem to have forgotten it.”

“J’adore ton sourire.”

 

Ketch sighed, and moved a little. Mick watched as he put the bundled blanket he brought from his room against the ledge, before sitting against it. Mick sat next to him, leaning against the taller man. “J- j’ai-” Ketch shook his head. “J’adore,” he repeated slowly.

 

“I adore?” Ketch thought about it a moment. “Close enough. It’s ‘I love’.” Mick nodded. “Okay. ‘I love’. What would Arthur Ketch love? You’ve already mentioned my eyes, so it’s not that. Facial feature?” Ketch nodded. “It’s something on my face, besides my eyes. “Do I get another hint?” The Brit shook his head. “I can deal with that. So you love something on my face. I got it. ‘I love your face’.”

 

Ketch laughed. “I do, but that’s besides the point. ‘Sourire’ means ‘smile’. I love your smile, Mickey.” Mick’s face felt hot. He loved compliments from Ketch, even though he felt like he didn't deserve them. He couldn't see what Ketch saw in him. He supposed it must have been the same way around. “Like I said, I don’t speak French.” Ketch wrapped an arm around Mick’s shoulders. “No, but I could teach you. Hm, what’s something simpler? Tu es charmant.” The man hesitated. “I want to say… ‘you are charming’?” Ketch ruffled Mick’s hair teasingly. “Arthur-”

 

“Tu es charmant, je suis charmant-” Mick groaned. “Not right now, you’re not.” Mick pulled away, and Ketch’s arm lied on the ledge. “Yes, you were correct. How about… tu me rends heureux.” Mick shrugged. “I honestly have no clue, mate.” A softness showed in Ketch’s smile. “You make me happy.”

 

The soft light from the moon that reflected on the surrounding trees was perfect around Ketch, Mick thought. “You should start writing these down,” he responded. “Perhaps I should.” Mick felt mesmerized. In the pale glow of the night, it made the other male seem so tender; so much kinder than he had to act for the British Men of Letters. It was breathtaking - which in a literal sense wouldn’t have been very good, since it was cold enough that Mick could see both his own breath and Ketch’s.

 

He shivered a little, and curled up closer against Ketch. The latter grabbed the blanket from behind them and laid it over Mick. “We could always head back to the dorms, you know. I’m sure Reuben could make an exception for us.”

 

Reuben was the nightly security guard who wandered the boys’ dormitories. Mick had noticed that Ketch had gotten quite friendly with him, to Mick’s dismay.

 

“No, I want to spend a little more time with you. Not yet, please.” Ketch nodded, and sighed. “You’re so stubborn sometimes,” he mumbled. “Why don’t we go back to the French? I liked that.” Ketch was silent for a minute, before saying anything else. He turned and met Mick’s eyes. “Est-ce que tu m’aimes?”

 

Mick could understand well enough that it was a question, albeit one he didn’t understand. Ketch was asking him something, and based on how much his tone had dropped - the question had barely been above a whisper, and if they hadn’t been so close, Mick wouldn’t have even heard it - it was one that meant something more than it seemed. Nothing like ‘what’s your favourite colour’ or such. “I know you’re asking me something. I know that ‘tu’ means ‘you’. I’m pretty sure this question means something to you.”

 

Ketch’s eyes left Mick’s, and his face was red from more than the frost biting at them. Nothing else Ketch had said gave him any kind of hints. “You’re freezing, Michael, we should get back to the dorms.”

 

The fact that Ketch had used Mick’s actual name must have meant something. From the almost scared expression crossing Ketch’s face to the nervous tone… the realization hit Mick harder than the wind around them.

 

“Arthur… did you ask whether I love you or not?”

 

Ketch didn’t meet his eyes, but it made perfect sense in Mick’s head. He figured it must have made sense in Ketch’s head as well. “I know, it’s a stupid question-”

 

Mick moved slightly away from Ketch, and he brought his hands to rest on Ketch’s pink cheeks. “No. It’s… fine. I suppose I understand. Here, ask me again, now that I know what it means.” Ketch’s expression changed in confusion, but he looked up. “Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Mick smiled. “Oui.” He knew enough French to say that. Ketch couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Je t’aime aussi.”

 

Mick wrapped his legs around Ketch, who pulled the younger boy onto his lap. Mick tried wrapping some of the blanket that laid around his shoulders onto Ketch. “I hope that means ‘I love you too’, otherwise, I’ll be very concerned, considering the way we’re sitting.” Ketch kissed Mick gently on his neck, before murmuring “of course it means ‘I love you too’, my dear” close to his ear. “Good.” Mick grinned, before burying his face in the soft crook between Ketch’s neck and his shoulder.

 

“Je t'aimerai pour toujours.”

“That sounds important.”

“It is.”

“Do I get to know what it means?”

“Guess.”

“Damn you, Arthur, I’m not-”

“It means ‘I will always love you’.”

“What was it again?”

“Je t'aimerai pour toujours.”

“Je t- ta-?”

“T’aimerai, Mickey boy.”

“Je t’aimerai…”

“Pour toujours.”

“Je t’aimerai pour toujours… aussi?”

“Tu es un dork, Mick.”

“Merci, Arthur.”


End file.
